Lately, I've been nostalgic for a time's past that includes faded and vague memories that are still highly regarded within my bursting memory bank. I've recently been longing for a childhood, a sense of youth that is indefinitely far away from where I am now; a period of time I may never see again.
2016 has began its promising nature by setting a thematic tone of change: I entered my 20s in December, my "little" brother turned 18 a little over a week ago and recently received his first college acceptance letters and my beloved cousin made a momentous decision to move to Montana to continue her education in anthropology. Although these changes are exciting and driven by dreams and opportunities, I cannot help but be fully aware and observant of the fact that a chapter in my life has indefinitely closed: I will never be able to return to childhood or adolescence.
I've had the unique opportunity of taking a children's literature class this semester, which has only heightened this sense of longing and detachment I currently experience from childhood. Revisiting classic fairytales and classic children's literature such as "Goodnight Moon," "Where The Wild Things Are," "Winnie the Pooh" and "Where The Sidewalk Ends" has left me strangely conflicted. These texts had all infinitely impacted me as a child, but as I now revisit them as a young adult, I realize that there is an obvious reason that adult authors choose to capture childhood within writing and literature. As Shakespeare tells us, the written word makes people, places and experiences eternal. Eternal lines may encapsulate the joyous wonders and fantasies of childhood, as well as the curious nature of children. However, these efforts are due to the fact that childhood is something that is ultimately lost at some point and can never be returned to, however we still wish to channel what we have lost in some way.
This type of reflection has allowed me to observe why some of my favorite musical artists' work has impacted me in such an influential way. For example, Arcade Fire tirelessly exhausts an obsessive idea of the normality of adolescence within a suburban setting, as well as warning children: "don't grow up." I've come to realize why lyrics in "The Suburbs" such as: "Kids wanna be so hard / But in my dreams we're still screaming and running through the yard," and "Children wake up / Hold your mistake up / Before they turn the summer into dust" from "Wake Up" ring incessantly in my eardrums and beat through my chest. The songs remind me that I'm awaiting an answer in coming to terms with my wish to preserve this sense of childhood while handling the impending adulthood that awaits me.
At 20 years old, I'm fully aware of the grand scheme of life that still awaits me, that I've yet to have even touch. But I cannot help but be fully observant of the chapter in my life that I may never see again, and I ponder why anyone would want to engage in adulthood and have an interest in growing up. There is something beautiful that exists in childhood that is lost along the way: a sense of knowing, or a sense of not knowing, that is eventually embedded in the adult life.
Growing up has made me long for richer days, filled with scattered feet on prickly, green grass, along with tangled hair and sweet summer's air painted by yellow-lighted sunsets.
I beg the question: at which point does childhood decease, if it ever does, and how can we stop the nature of life from turning our summers into dust?
